“We must bring this thoughtless boy back,” he said, “or great harm will be done.” “But how?” “By persuasion, if possible. Follow me.” The two prelates entered the interior of the palace, and sought the king’s private chamber. As they drew near they heard the sound of merry laughter, and each of them frowned as men might do who were little accustomed to condone the weakness of human flesh. Entering the chamber very unceremoniously, they paused, as if aghast, when they beheld the king in the company of Elgiva, his royal diadem cast upon the ground. He started in surprise, and for a moment in fear; then, remembering who he was, he exclaimed, angrily—“How dare you, sir monk, intrude upon the privacy of your king, unbidden?” “We do so as the ambassadors of the King of kings.” It is out of our power to describe the scene which followed, the fiery words of Edwy, the stern yet quiet rejoinders of the churchmen, the tears of the mother and daughter; but it is well known how the scene ended. Edwy absolutely refused to return to the assembled guests, saying he would forfeit his kingdom first; and Dunstan replied that for his (Edwy’s) own sake he should then be compelled to use force, and suiting the action to the word, he and Cynesige took each an arm of the youthful king, and led him back by compulsion to the assembled nobles and clergy. Before condemning Dunstan, we must remember that Elgiva could not stand in the relation of the affianced bride of the king; that Edwy really seemed to set the laws of both Church and State at defiance, those very laws which but that day he had sworn solemnly to maintain; and that but recently he had stood in the relation of pupil to Dunstan, so that in his zeal for Church and State, the abbot forgot the respect due to the king. He saw only the boy, and forgot the sovereign. The guests assembled in the banqueting hall had seen the desertion of their royal master with murmurs both loud and deep; but when they saw him return escorted by Dunstan and Cynesige, their unanimous approval showed that in their eyes the churchmen had taken a proper step. Yet, although Edwy tried to make a show of having returned of his own free will, an innocent device at which his captors connived when they entered the hall with him, the bitterest passions were rankling in his heart, and he determined to take a terrible revenge, should it ever be in his power, upon Dunstan. There was comparatively little show of merriment during the rest of the feast, and the noble company separated earlier than was usual on such occasions. “If this be the way King Edwy treats his guests,” said the Earl of Mercia, “he will find scant loyalty north of the Thames.” “Nor in East Anglia,” said another. “There is another of the line of Cerdic living.” “Yes, Edgar, his brother.” “Dunstan and Cynesige brought him back with some difficulty, I’ll be bound.” “Yes; although he tried to smile, I saw the black frown hidden beneath.”